


"M"

by Mybrolly



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, Bloodplay, Branding, Crying, Dark!Mycroft, Double Penetration, Dubious Consent, Forced, Forced Orgasm, Ice, Johncroft, Knifeplay, M/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm Denial, Prostate Massager, Punishment, Spanking, bound and gagged, butt plug, dildo, kidnap, paddled
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2017-12-29 23:36:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1011420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mybrolly/pseuds/Mybrolly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A needle to the neck and now John is bound and blindfold, god knows where. His captor has plans for him...whether John likes it or not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

John had no clue who it was the first time he was captured. Was Moriarty back? Was it to do with Sherlock? Was Mycroft up to his old tricks?

 

Jim was dead, he was sure of that, he’d watched the body be removed from the roof and brought to the morgue. He watched that man burn at the cremation, he was certain Jim Moriarty was long gone.

 

Mycroft, well this wasn’t his style. A needle in the neck was never his thing, he preferred intimidation. Plus John hadn’t seen Mycroft since Sherlock’s funeral. That suited him just fine, he still held a grudge against him for giving information to Moriarty. Mycroft was not high on his list of people to see and John strongly doubted he’d be on Mycroft’s either.

 

So something to do with Sherlock then, obviously. Nearly a year after he died and someone is pulling this crap. What was the point? What did they hope to get? John knew nothing, Sherlock was dead and that part of his life was over and done with. If they thought they could break John they were wrong, he was already a broken man. His best friend was dead. The man he cared about, the man he lived with, the man he could always depend on, even though he was a pain in the arse, he was gone and he was never coming back.

 

When John woke up he was instantly aware he was tied up. It seemed to be rope and tied to a chair. Everything was dark, a blindfold ensured that and after tugging with any energy he had, it seemed escape wasn’t an option.

 

Footsteps approached on hard ground and John listened carefully. A man, definitely, the step was heavy and the stride seemed wide. John’s cheeks were captured in a tight squeeze and his lower lip was bitten roughly. He refused to make noise, refused to give the fucker the satisfaction. He focused on the smell but there was no scent to cling to, the man smelt of soap as if just from the shower, something generic, there was no recognisable quality to it but it seemed the man had done that on purpose.

 

John’s head was yanked back and without words the man sunk his teeth into the doctor’s neck, sucking and biting to form a sizeable bruise. Unnerving him or marking his territory, John couldn’t quite tell.

 

He expected the man to make his demands now that he had done his little show of control. When he felt movement and heard his zipper being undone, he knew he wasn’t getting away with just an interrogation.

 

John protested as a soft manly hand slipped below his briefs and started to fondle his cock. There was no way in the world he would willingly get hard for whatever asshole was doing this to him.

 

“What the fuck do you want with me?” John hissed as the hand stroked him gently. The only reply was a huff of a laugh.

 

No matter how much he protested he couldn’t get the man to stop. The assailant kept kissing his neck and jawline, keeping his second strong hand in John’s hair in order to ensure he didn’t try to fight back. Each time he neared the mouth, he seemed to back away as if cautious of John biting him…which of course John would if he got the slightest chance.

 

“You’re a fucking bastard. Let me go.” John shouted and got a hard slap for his trouble. Still the man didn’t speak.

 

John cursed his body as it began to betray him, he willed the erection away but the damn thing had a mind of its own and wanted more of the sensation. It was gentle, slow, too slow. John bucked his hips and instantly chastised himself for being so stupid. Another huffed laugh came from the mystery man.

 

Heat was building in John’s body and the perpetrator was sucking on his earlobes, biting them, licking stripes up his neck and pulling his head back to suck bruises to his throat. It was as if he had a manual of things that would turn John on. He bit his lip and fought the moan, he couldn’t give in again, wouldn’t give in, but a climax was building and for all the wrong reasons it was beginning to feel amazing.

 

Suddenly the hand stopped. John felt the hands leave his erection as well as his hair, then he heard the footsteps walking away.

 

He wanted to groan in annoyance. The man, whoever the hell he was, had worked him up, brought him so close to release and then just walked away and left him a practically quivering mess. With his hands tied behind his back and to the chair, there was no way he could finish himself off or cover himself. He was left on show, hard, leaking and desperate for anyone to see. He just prayed there was no one watching.

 

**********

 

It seemed like hours before the man returned. John listened to the footsteps and was almost sure they were the same. When the man came close to him he smelt the same soap smell only fresher, as if the man had showered in the time away. John’s thoughts were interrupted when a cold blade was pressed to his cheek.

 

“Going to talk to me this time?” John wanted to stay calm but the sharp mental caused his voice to waver slightly, “Or just hide behind your weapon like a coward?”

 

The tip of the knife was pressed into his cheek until the skin broke, and dragged down to make a small cut. John felt the drop of blood trickle down his cheek before a tongue was on him licking it up.

 

The knife moved down to his throat and was dragged along his skin only enough to scrape. His jumper began to be cut open and ripped apart, forced from his body as it fell in what must have been tatters. His undershirt went in much the same way and the cold air hit his skin.

 

John winced as he felt the blade dig in to his skin again, a line from his neck to his scarred shoulder. The blood dripped, the smell of it filled the air and a finger was dragged through it and instantly pushed into John’s mouth. The blade placed on his throat gave a stern warning in case he got any ideas about biting. It pushed tighter to his skin until he sucked the blood from the man’s fingers, the iron taste staying on his tongue.

 

The fingers were soon removed and the knife trailed further down his torso, John panicking as it ran along his flaccid cock. He hated the twitch of excitement it gave, he was terrified and aroused, it disgusted him.

 

Quickly the knife moved to his heart again and John felt it dig in deeper. There was a pattern, a zigzag, something, and the blood spilled from the fresh wound, again being licked up by the strange man who held him captive.

 

Noise filled the room, (or warehouse, basement, god knows where he was) as the knife was dropped to the ground and the man’s zip was pulled down. Rustling followed and then his hands forced something into John’s mouth and secured it at the back. A gag, a spider gag it seemed as his mouth was held open and he was unable to close it at all. John could only mumble in protest, words weren’t able to form properly.

 

It was a strange feeling as something ran through the blood and pressed on the new wound on his chest. It was only clear to John what had happened when a cock was pushed into his mouth, covered in the blood and tasting metallic.

 

The hand was back on his head holding him in place as the man began to fuck his mouth. He was merciless, forcing his cock far down John’s throat. John gagged and choked but the man didn’t stop his pounding assault. Blood still dripped down his chest and was now being met with saliva as it fell from his chin.

 

It was horrible, he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t stop him and his mouth was filled with the taste of blood and sweat. The man used him, he seemed to get rougher each time he pushed his cock back into John’s reluctant mouth.

 

He still didn’t speak, just heavy breathing and the odd moan when things were becoming too much. After a rather loud one, he stopped his movements and grunted as he came over John’s face and in his mouth. John refused to swallow, which apparently was displeasing to his capture. The gag was removed and his mouth held shut, nose pinched closed until he caved and swallowed, tasting the salty cum.

 

A zip was pulled, a sigh came from the man and he walked away again leaving John covered in blood, cum and, as much as he loathed to admit it to himself, a rather hard erection.

 

**********

 

John woke up in his bed back in 221B, all a dream it seemed, at least he’d hoped.

 

When he swallowed his throat ached, John tried to ignore it, told himself he was coming down with a cold. He jumped out of bed quickly, stumbling as dizziness took over. Sitting back on the bed, he sighed, “Definitely getting a cold or flu” he groaned into the silence of his room. As he ran his hand through his hair pain hit him like a sharp bolt in his chest. John lifted his t-shirt and saw the clean, white dressing. Slowly he removed it and saw the area red and scared, something written beside it in black ink.

 

Moving as quickly as he could, John went to the mirror and stared at the neat “M” carved on his chest beside the note which read _“You’re mine.”_


	2. Chapter 2

John had almost made it to New Scotland Yard to report what had happened when he a needle pierced his neck again. When he awoke he was bent over something, a table or bench of some kind, padded definitely. His legs were tied to the bottom, spread apart and his arms were bound behind his back. He was naked, that much he could tell but there was another blindfold firmly in place and some form of ball gag tight in his mouth.

 

“Going to have to keep a closer eye on you, aren’t I? You used to be so independent, so strong, now look at you. Pathetic. Weak. Running to the police at the first sign of trouble. What happened to you Doctor Watson? Have you just fallen apart without Sherlock? Do you need that badly to be someone’s pet? I suppose that means I’ll have to make you mine then, doesn’t it?”

 

That voice, it was unmistakable. Mycroft fucking Holmes was the one doing this to him. That arrogant asshole.

 

John tried to protest but the gag stopped the expletives from coming out as anything other than muffled moans. This seemed to amuse Mycroft and that damn huffed laugh was heard again.

 

“Don’t bother, John, you were never the one for words. Do you really think my brother kept you around for your intelligence?”

 

The comment stung more than it should have. John still missed Sherlock and it hurt to think that their friendship might have been any less than he had always remembered it to be. He had to block it out, he wouldn’t let Mycroft twist the knife in his grief, especially not whenever he played a part in Sherlock’s death.

 

“You were nothing to him. Simply a sounding board and something nice to look at. He never cared for you, John. Would he have jumped if he did?”

 

That was always something John had played over and over in his head. He’d called Sherlock a machine and at times he was one, jumping off that building was probably boredom rather than anything else. Moriarty had shot himself, his reputation was ruined, where was the excitement going to be for him? So he jumped, end life rather than let it get stale, no thought for anyone but himself, certainly no thought for John.

 

“Like I said, Doctor…Just. His. Pet. And now you need a new master.”

 

There was something pressed against his throat, soft leather, pulled tightly and buckled at the back. A collar. Mycroft had put him in a damn collar.

 

John mumbled his protest and Mycroft gave the collar a tug, cutting off his oxygen briefly. Slowly John was losing his fight, it was clear he wasn’t getting out of this until Mycroft had done whatever it was he’d wanted to do.

 

“Much better, don’t you think? You can belong again.”

 

Mycroft stroked John’s back as he spoke, it was oddly soothing in a rather depraved way. Too gentle for a man that had him tied up and gagged, a man that had carved his initial into John’s chest. There was no way John would let himself forget, he knew the kind of things the man with the ‘minor’ position in the government could do and he’d be an idiot not to find that intimidating.

 

“Now, I do hope you are aware that making attempts to go to the police was rather a foolish move. You’ll be punished for this, John. With each slap I want you to remember just how wrong that was. You shan’t be doing such things again.”

 

A sharp crack hit John’s exposed ass, Mycroft’s hand making firm contact. He didn’t take much pause between slaps and continued to spank John without mercy. Each time he braced himself it seemed to hurt more so he soon learned to relax. There was nothing he could do, he had to take this so-called punishment.

 

John counted the slaps in his head, hoping for a minimum amount but as he counted of 10, 11, 12, there seemed to be no let up. There was a long pause after the fifteenth stroke, as the sixteenth came John felt the difference instantly. Mycroft had changed from using his hand to using a paddle and god it hurt. The pain seared his ass cheeks and the top of his thighs as Mycroft dished out his relentless beating. Tears came to John’s eyes and he lost count of the smacks, his mind swam in the pain and the sound of that damn huffed laugh.

 

When the beating finally stopped, John wanted to cry in relief. His bottom burnt and was bound to be glowing red. He felt some strange trickle and realised he was bleeding. That bastard had spanked him until he bled, bloody hell.

 

Suddenly the burn was replaced by an almighty cold.  Ice. Was this an attempt to soothe or to inflict more pain? It melted quickly over the heat of his abused cheeks and John could feel the water drip down his thighs. He yelped uncontrollably when his ass cheeks were pulled apart and the stinging cold of the ice was pressed to his hole.

 

Mycroft was a cruel man it seemed. How much of this did he intend to inflict? How the hell did he expect to get away with it? There were only so many people he could bribe surely?

 

As the ice melted smaller it was pushed into him, the worst part about it was the fact it aroused him and his cock twitched in its trapped place below his stomach as the liquid dripped from his entrance to his balls.

 

There was a noise John couldn’t quite place. A plastic-y pop like a lid being opened….lube. John squirmed in panic. He wouldn’t, he wouldn’t actually do it, would he? It was all just a game, he wasn’t going to actually fuck him, not really. But then, he _had_ touched John, he _had_ forced John to suck him, he _had_ done things John never expected from him, it was only natural that he _would_ do this too.

 

The answer was clear when a slicked finger forced its way inside John. No pretence, no teasing, not even any words, just a lubricated finger pushed past the tight ring of muscle and into him, no matter how much it hurt.

 

A second soon followed and John squirmed to get away, it was no use of course, he was tied tightly. A metallic click was heard and a sharp tug on his collar.

 

“Naughty pets must stay on leashes.” Mycroft laughed and tugged again. The collar dug tightly into John’s neck and his breathing became more laboured until Mycroft released his grip.

 

The fingers continued their ministrations and John reluctantly hardened when his prostate was skilfully teased by those dexterous fingers.

 

A third finger was added, John’s muffled cries became louder but a sharp tug of the leash soon quietened him. Mycroft had the power to control or cut off his breathing, all with a simple strip of leather. It was rather terrifying and worryingly arousing.

 

With a final graze of his prostate the fingers were removed.

 

“I told you you were mine, John. I do believe it’s time to prove it.”

 

His voice was too calm, that was more unnerving than his words. Mycroft was in control, he knew what he was doing, what his plan was and his end goal, it was all clear and it led him to be calm while John quivered beneath him.

 

A zip was opened and that plastic pop of the lube came again. There was no warning other than the head of Mycroft’s cock being pressed against him. He was slow as he entered but he pushed in deeply. John winced and whined as he was stretched further than the fingers had prepared him for. He knew from the last session that Mycroft’s cock was thick, it worried him that he might be pushed too far and skin torn. All protests were ignored as Mycroft pushed himself in to the hilt. He paused, finally giving John a chance to adjust to the intrusion, his hole burning with the stretch caused by the thick cock and his ass cheeks stinging as Mycroft seemed to purposely dig his hands into them.

 

When Mycroft begins to thrust it’s slow, gentle but it doesn’t last long before he increases his intensity. It’s more than obvious that this is a fuck for Mycroft’s pleasure, it’s not romance or love, it’s not soft or sensual, it is hard, pounding, painful and filthy.

 

In his mind John keeps telling himself his arousal is only due to the prostate being nudged by Mycroft’s cock. He fights the thought that the danger is turning him on, that this man, someone he’d known for so long and always knew to have a bit of darkness, was taking him against his will and it was damn hot. Simply the prostate, just a chemical reaction, that’s all.

 

Mycroft pulled the leash tight and John’s thought’s stopped, his entire mind was focused on getting air and his body was becoming lost in the overwhelming sensation. Mycroft’s thrusts seemed to be getting deeper, faster and when he changed his angle he was punishing the prostate with each movement.

 

When John could breathe again he began to squirm, tried to gain friction for his painful erection.

 

“Just a whore after all. Not shocking I suppose. Perhaps my brother should have used you in the way you were intended, he could’ve made you his own personal slut. I am sure you would’ve loved it, John. You seem to be enjoying a cock inside you. Or is it just mine? You belong to me, John. You’re Mine.”

 

His voice was breathy as he continued his fast thrusts, not relenting at all. There was constant tugs on the leash, some to show control, others to restrict breathing and each time they did, John’s cock throbbed beneath his stomach.

 

Mycroft’s thrusts became more erratic as he neared his orgasm. John fought a war with his body that felt like it was chasing his own. His nerves tingled and warmth filled his stomach. When Mycroft took a long, slow drag over the bundle of nerves, John’s body won the fight and he came, untouched. It was powerful, he’d never done that before in his life and bloody hell it felt good. His entire being hummed with pleasure, as loathed as he was to admit it.

 

With a few more thrusts there came a few grunts from Mycroft as he came inside John. It was a strange sensation to feel the release coating his insides and beginning to spill from him when Mycroft eventually pulled out.

 

“I want you to remember this, John. Remember how you were claimed and how you enjoyed it.”

 

There was another plastic pop which concerned John. Was there something else? Someone else? Something cold and metallic slipped into his still stretched hole, a butt plug, sealing him full of Mycroft’s cum.

 

“You should see yourself. Finally you look like the pet you always were and always will be.”

 

There was another huffed laugh, the kind John now despised, and Mycroft walked away. John hoped that was it and he’d be allowed to go home and nurse his bruised ego as well as his physical injuries.

 

He wasn’t quite that lucky. 


	3. Chapter 3

John felt like a fraud to claim he was being held captive. Mycroft had given him a nice room, big comfortable bed and en-suite. Food was brought to him at regular intervals and Mycroft either gently fed him or left him to his own devices. It may have been imprisonment but it seemed like imprisonment in a luxury hotel.

 

He’d tried to escape multiple times, each resulted in a punishment. There were times he was spanked until he bled again, others Mycroft withheld food until John had learnt his lesson and some were of a cruel sexual nature.

 

Mycroft was always calm no matter if he were delivering punishment or praise. John grew fond of the praise, at least it meant he was doing something right and might get out of there quicker and back to his normal life to pretend this never happened.

 

When Mycroft fucked him he didn’t bother with a gag anymore, he seemed to like to hear John. Each time it started with the pleas to be let go and to stop. By the time the orgasm hit his captor, John found himself writhing more, his body begging for stimulation, for release. Eventually his mouth followed.

 

He knew he was broken the moment he begged Mycroft to touch him, to let him cum and to fuck him. John had no doubt that Mycroft would feel as though he had won and the truth was he had. Locked in that room and being used as a personal sex toy, it was degrading and filthy but even John had to admit he had enjoyed it once or twice. He had been so strong all his life, he took over the “man of the house” duties when his father died and looked after his mother as she spiralled into depression, he had to battle with Harry’s drinking and when he joined the army the battle became against the enemy forces. Not one moment in his life could John remember giving up all control, letting someone else decide for him, act on his behalf, give his mind and body what it needed before he even knew himself, but Mycroft was doing just that. It was disgusting to admit to himself but for the first time in his life he felt cared for, he felt he could be weak and be protected at the same time. Mycroft punished him but only when he did wrong, everything else was oddly caring. Even the way Mycroft would feed him, it was slow, delicate, caring and he never raised his voice once John played by the rules.

 

John didn’t know if it was the beginnings of Stockholm Syndrome or if he genuinely needed someone else to take control but either way he knew he wasn’t getting out of this situation any time soon and it was easier if he co-operated.

 

The punishments became less and less as John conceded and did as he was told. Each visit from Mycroft incorporated more of John’s pleasure, be it mental or physical. When Mycroft fucked him he touched John, let him cum, as long as he asked permission first. Mycroft even kissed him. The first time he did it was a shock but it was gentle, caring, loving in some strange way, so John let it happen. To anyone looking in they might see a lover rather than a prisoner.

 

“I thought we’d try something new today, my dear. Shall we see just how much you can take?”

 

New was never good, new meant pain or god knows what else. John didn’t bother speaking, he curled up at the top of the bed and let out a slight whimper.

 

“Oh now, don’t be like that. I think you’ll enjoy it. You do rather like being filled, don’t you. I’ll take care of you, John.”

 

Simple words and ones he knew he shouldn’t trust from a man who had forcibly taken him against his will but John uncurled himself and moved closer to Mycroft.

 

“That’s my darling boy.” He practically coo-ed as he stroked John’s hair.  “I’ll use plenty of lubricant as long as you play by the rules. Otherwise I _will_ make it hurt. Do you understand me?”

 

John didn’t know what he’d planned but he wanted to avoid pain at all costs. “Yes.” He muttered.

 

Mycroft raised an eyebrow and snarled, “Yes, _what?_ ”

 

This was being trained into him, it was Sir, always Sir, just like his army days. Mycroft told him he would be referred to as Sir until John proved he was worthy of calling him something else, calling him Daddy or Master.

 

“Yes Sir. Sorry Sir.”

 

“Much better. We mustn’t forget our manners now, must we?”

 

“No Sir. I’ll not forget again Sir.”

 

“No, you won’t.” The look in Mycroft’s eyes said it all. Forget and there would be pain. Forget and punishment would follow.

 

John could almost laugh now at all those porn films he watched, all the girls getting “punished” with a few light smacks on their ass or by having to suck a cock. That wasn’t punishment, it wasn’t that simple. Mycroft was cold, calculated and cruel. Punishment was far more fearful that what porn made out.

 

“Hands and knees, on the bed. Quickly, John, I haven’t got all day to be dealing with you.”

 

John’s compliance was almost instantaneous, he had already suffered Mycroft’s wrath too many times for not following orders right away. He climbed on the bed on his hands and knees, waited until Mycroft had given him a nod and he dropped down to his elbows, displaying his ass for his captor.

 

Mycroft undressed, a rare thing, usually he liked to keep the physical show of power by at least remaining in his shirt, tie and waistcoat. When he was naked he made sure John knew that it wasn’t for his benefit, it was because he wouldn’t ruin a good suit with sweat from fucking a filthy cock whore. Not that John would find it to be stimulating anyway, or at least he never thought he would, but even naked Mycroft screamed power and control. His body was hardly muscled but trim and covered in a fine ginger hair and freckles, he was rather a beautiful sight to behold, though with one facial expression he could go from majestically handsome to threatening and dominant.

 

Taking a key from his waistcoat pocket, Mycroft unlocked a drawer, one John was never allowed to look in but the one Mycroft affectionately called the “toy box”. John kept his head down, submissive, he hadn’t been told to raise it and he refused to defy Sir.

 

“We’ll start small, shall we? I don’t want to split you and put you out of commission after all.”

 

John squeezed his eyes shut in fear of what was going to happen. He felt Mycroft climb onto the bed behind him and begin to stroke his back tenderly.

 

“Now now John, don’t be afraid. Have I done anything you haven’t liked yet?”

 

He wanted to scream yes, he wanted to list off everything Mycroft had done to him and just how wrong it was but that would lead to punishment. Would Mycroft even believe him anyway? He had gotten hard for everything, orgasmed each time he was allowed, begged for it at points, maybe he had really liked it all in the end.

 

“No Sir. I trust you, Sir.”

 

Mycroft kissed his back softly and muttered words of praise in his ear. Trusting Mycroft was not something he should do, not something he likely ever would do again but he somehow believed his words, he felt safe with someone he knew he should fear.

 

“Keep your position or I will put on your leash.”

 

The collar had stayed in place the entire time, it marked him as owned and that’s exactly what he was. He belonged to Mycroft now, he hadn’t given up the will to escape but he was a smart man, he knew he could run but he’d never escape the British Government.

 

Mycroft slicked two fingers and teased John’s entrance, soft little flicks of his fingertips giving the slightest of sensations, lulling John closer to pleasure and away from fear, pushing hard inside him when he began to relax.

 

The yelp he let out wasn’t reacted to. Mycroft moved his fingers in and out of John, avoiding his prostate purposely. He seemed to revel in the fact that constant fuckings and plugs had left John looser, able to take more quicker. When John began to rock back on his fingers, Mycroft praised and rewarded him with small brushes over his prostate. John knew his willingness to have Mycroft inside him was well received.

 

When Mycroft removed his fingers he slicked up a toy with lube. John daren’t look, he knew something was coming and prayed it wouldn’t be too big. It was one of the smaller ones from the toy box, long but realistic, raised veins along the shaft and a nice swollen head. Mycroft lined it up and slowly pushed it in. John was grateful for the lack of force as Mycroft slowly edged the dildo into his ass. It actually felt good, not quite like the real thing which John had discovered he actually enjoyed, but it filled him nicely and the head nudged his prostate when Mycroft let the angle allow it.

 

John was hard now and annoyingly wanton. Mycroft was able to flick some switch in him that made him go from disgusted to desperate. He wouldn’t willingly take the man, he had to be ordered but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t take _some_ pleasure from it.

 

Mycroft’s movements became quicker, pushing the dildo in and out of John until he discarded it, leaving it lying on the bed. John heard the tell-tale sound of the lube bottle and soon felt Mycroft’s cock slowly pushing into him.

 

The difference was instantly obvious. Mycroft was thicker than the dildo and it caused more of a painful stretch but with the soothing strokes and praise that he was getting, John knew it would be okay and soon feel pleasurable. With Mycroft’s own cock he could also feel the heat of his body, the throbbing of the prick inside him, the connection with his master.

 

Mycroft seated himself in the doctor and gave John a brief moment to adjust before beginning a brutal pace of thrusts. He was angled perfectly, nudging the prostate with each stroke and causing John’s own erection to leak pre-cum. He thought about begging for release but knew Mycroft would deny it, he wasn’t close enough to his own orgasm to let John have one.

 

The lube bottle was opened again and John felt something push at his hole. Mycroft was working in a finger, stretching him further. The pain was sharp but dulled quickly by the feeling of fullness once the finger was in, filling him along with Mycroft’s prick.

 

A second was forced in quickly and John gasped loudly, moaning in a mix of pleasure and pain. It was too much, he couldn’t take any more, he shouldn’t have that much in him in the first place. He begged Mycroft to stop, tears began to fill his eyes and his voice cracked. It felt so damn good but too much. John begged to cum when asking for it to be stopped failed, he finally thought he had gotten through to Mycroft when the fingers were removed.

 

Thank you’s spilled from his lips and his knees shook with want to collapse. He was swiftly reminded he would never win with Mycroft when he felt the dildo push against him again.

 

He screamed no. There was no way he could take both, he couldn’t do it. He knew as a doctor that the stretch could tear him and as a man he knew his own body best. Mycroft only chuckled at the pleas and shushed John, warning him that he should do as he is told, take what he is given or expect punishment. Silent tears flowed from John’s eyes as Mycroft worked the head inside him.

 

It was agony. With each trust of Mycroft’s cock, the dildo was pushed further inside. It felt like the first time again, the overwhelming burn of the stretch was back and John felt like he was in hell.

 

Then it happened. The head of Mycroft’s cock hit his prostate first, not long after the head of the dildo rubbed along it too. When both Mycroft and the dildo were seated in him, the dildo’s raised veins gilded along his prostate with each trust. Pain faded as pleasure washed over him, too much pleasure. John became a quivering mess as the two cocks filled his tight hole. He needed to come, needed release, he didn’t even care if he ached for days after, he just wanted Mycroft to fuck him harder.

 

When he squeaked a ‘please’ Mycroft seemed triumphant. The cocks moved at a punishing pace until Mycroft’s body seized up and he came inside John. It was too much, his prostate over sensitised and Mycroft cumming, John didn’t have time to ask, he wouldn’t have been able to speak even if he had, his orgasm took over like an explosion in his body. It was unbelievable, each part of him tingled and throbbed with delight and his entire body went weak. The dildo was carefully removed and both he and Mycroft collapsed together with Mycroft still inside him.

 

John wanted to speak, say something, anything, but his mind was completely blank, in that moment he was sure he forgot how words were even formed. When he looked to Mycroft he saw the man was similarly blissed out.

 

They stayed in that position for a long time. John was drifting off to sleep when he felt Mycroft remove himself from his abused hole.

 

He opened his eyes to see Mycroft wrap a robe around himself, gather his suit and walk to the door. He stopped and turned to John, scowl replacing the peaceful post-orgasm face.

 

“Don’t think I didn’t notice that you didn’t have permission to come. Mark my words, you _will_ be punished for that.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John came without permission, he needs to be punished.

Mycroft raised his head from the stack of papers on his desk to look at the computer screen. The live feed had been playing all day in order to let him watch his little slut's punishment while he worked. John was a beautiful sight- naked, wrists and ankles bound with padded cuffs to each of the four corners of the bed, (Mycroft had wanted to use rope but John would be writhing for hours and the wounds from chaffing would take too long to heal) as a vibrating prostate massager was forcing him to have multiple orgasms.

 

John had been moaning, writing, begging and whimpering for hours as the device continued pleasuring his prostate. Eventually Mycroft had to turn the sound from the hidden camera off as it was distracting him from the work he had to do. John deserved punishment for coming without permission, this way he would be forced to orgasm for hours and Mycroft was free to continue working.

 

Each twist and turn of John's body showed off the beautiful angles, he had put on weight since his return from the army but it suited him. His face screwed up in a wince each time he agitated his wounded shoulder but Mycroft showed no remorse, John needed to learn his lesson, good little whores always ask permission.

 

The toy drew several orgasms from John over the course of the day. The poor man looked weak, dishevelled and abused as he lay tied up, covered in his own come and recovering from a dry orgasm. He was going to be sensitive for days, barely touchable, but that wouldn't stop Mycroft from taking what was his. Watching all day had made him desperate to remove the toy and draw another painfully pleasurable orgasm from the broken soldier.

 

When Mycroft finally returned home he went straight to his pet. “What a mess you've made,” he tutted, “Covered in your own release, filthy boy you are.”

 

John looked over at his captor with bloodshot eyes, “Please, Mycroft....Sir, please stop it. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, please just stop it.”

 

Mycroft smirked, “Do you feel you have learnt your lesson?”

 

The toy continued to pulse against John's over-sensitised prostate, he writhed and moaned, voice breathy as he begged, “Please, please stop it. I have, I'm sorry Sir, I'm sorry, please Sir, please stop it.”

 

Slowly Mycroft walked over to the bed and took hold of the base of the vibrator. It was wet, sticky, covered in the come that had ran down John's cock or over his thighs and caused the wet patch on the bed. He twisted the toy slightly and John whimpered with pain as Mycroft grinned wickedly. He pushed the setting to the highest vibration and John began to sob, the over-sensitisation too much for him to handle.

 

“You must learn, John. Permission must always be given before ejaculation.”

 

John begged Mycroft to stop, pleading for mercy from his master. A large sigh of relief and a wave of thank you's were given when finally Mycroft turned the vibration off.

 

“Oh dear boy, don't think your punishment has finished quiet yet.”

 

John's eyes opened wide with fear. What was Mycroft going to do to him now? He was weak, sore and utterly orgasmed out, he just wanted to sleep and forget the day had even happened.

 

Mycroft carefully uncuffed John's ankles, rubbing the area where the padded leather had been and checking all was okay. When he freed John's wrists he kissed each tenderly and massaged them to encourage blood flow. John relaxed, his punishment may not be over but Mycroft was still taking care of him, if he complied he should be fine.

 

“Lie on your stomach John. I want your face here.” Mycroft pointed to the wet spot on the sheets, “You made the mess John, do you really expect me to send semen stained sheets to my dry-cleaner? Face there, now, and clean up after yourself.”

 

John adhered to the order, moving slowly with fatigue and pain. He lay on his stomach, hands behind his back, arse over the edge of the bed and feet on the floor. As Mycroft began undressing, John licked the drying ejaculate from the sheets, trying to reassure himself that Mycroft was attempting to keep his suit clean and nothing else.

 

When naked, Mycroft moved to stand behind John. He pushed his pet's head into the bed and snapped, “Clean it all, slut.”, a quick slap on his ass punctuated the command.

 

There was no teasing, no fake romance or act of caring, Mycroft spread John's ass cheeks and pushed himself inside. The toy had left him stretched and his day of being tortured by the vibrations had left his hole slick with lube, sweat and come, causing Mycroft to slide in with ease.

 

“Please Sir, no, no, please, don't.” John begged, voice cracking as Mycroft went deeper, the head of his cock grazing John's abused prostate. “I can't, it's too much, please Sir, stop. Stop.”

 

This was punishment, the little cock whore would take what he was given and he would like it. Mycroft seated himself inside John, angling to hit the tender bundle of nerves when he began his thrusts.

 

Tears started falling down John's cheeks as his raw prostate was tortured. He begged and pleaded with Mycroft to stop, the pain was overriding any pleasure he was receiving. Mycroft ignored all of John's pleas, he wouldn't let his personal little fuck toy get away with disobeying orders.

 

John's crying only served to increase Mycroft's desires. John was always so strong, so tough, Mycroft had drawn tears from him before but never to this level of sobbing. It was beautiful to see him so undone, so completely broken. With each choked “Please” or “Stop” Mycroft fucked his sensitive toy harder. The pleasure grew inside him as his orgasm began to build.

 

Despite the abuse, John's body was reacting. The pain was becoming a white noise and he could feel the warmth in his stomach again. He had been milked during the day, another orgasm now would be dry, painful but extremely intense.

 

With a groan and a final deep thrust, Mycroft came inside his submissive pet. Bliss flowed over him as he released, coating John inside as the little whore pushed back on him to continue the trusts.

 

Mycroft removed himself from John with a smirk as John whined. He had be mercilessly fucked and brought to the point of orgasm again only to have it withheld.

 

“Well, you did say stop.” Mycroft chuckled.

 

The captor settled on the bed beside John and stroked his hair as John attempted to stop crying. He shushed him, wiped the tears and reassured him.

 

“Your punishment is over, my dear. You took it so well, I am very proud of you.”

 

It was a strange feeling to have Mycroft proud, it gave John a sense of pride in himself. He had been bad but he had paid for his mistake and now he was being taken care of again.

 

He sniffed and gave Mycroft a small smile, “I'm sorry that you had to punish me Sir. Thank you for teaching me I was wrong.”

 

Mycroft kissed John's shoulder and rose from the bed. His pet was learning well, he was _almost_ ready for a treat.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in updating. Hope it was worth the wait.


End file.
